A “FALL” means the meteorite was witnessed by someone as it fell from the sky. Like so many people it saw before you, the sky saw they decorated themselves with ritual paint, secret formulas, charms, and songs. Hoping their names won’t go down on the list of those who gambled and lost. There was a sense of providence about it all. Petroglyphs, traces of humans seen poignantly fleeing. Don’t talk to her like you know her. Move so far out that there’s nowhere else to move. You will be completely out of the way. In a darkened room. Never try to catch one. It is not a contact sport. No one is supposed to be able to do a thing like that & survive. Holes in the earth: 170 and counting. The broken-open grounds. They circle around the wound afterwards. Getting to know each other face to face. Looking over your shoulder, checking the wind, you wait for night to fall, daybreak to rise. Your 5 second part. And you feel a great longing for it. Last year Americans sent over two billion postcards. You know the urgency of the situation. You understand the stakes involved. You know in your heart what home is like, and you want to go back there. People are made of the same thing as comets, the carbon in our cells. Almost have a kind of blood relative affinity. They are everything you want to be. Greeted like a rock star in a heavy garland. The same blood runs through their veins. That blood cannot be changed. Lump of dark material. In a blue sky that’s just a bit too light. Since when does anything come “out of nowhere?” Where is nowhere? And how do I get there?

Cheyenne Nimes just graduated from the Nonfiction Writing Program at Iowa. Recent work can be found in Sonora Review, Killauthor, Calamity Jane, and Abjective. She is the 2009 winner of DIAGRAM’s hybrid essay contest, and author of a chapbook of prose poems which came out on Gold Wake this summer.